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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826019">The Last Songbird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_And_Insane/pseuds/Eden'>Eden (Lost_And_Insane)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Geraskier One-Shots [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Songbird - Freeform, implied geralt/jaskier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:46:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826019</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_And_Insane/pseuds/Eden</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier is the last of his kind, the last Songbird on the Continent, but quite happy pretending he's just a human bard. When history threatens to repeat itself and finding a Songbird is their only hope, he might have to rise to the occasion regardless.</p><p>-</p><p>“A Songbird?” Geralt repeated, incredulous. “Yen, you can’t be serious about this.”</p><p>“I am,” she said. Her hands gripped her cup tightly, knuckles turning white from the pressure, but she didn’t look away from the witcher in front of her. “They’re real, Geralt. And we need their help.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Geraskier One-Shots [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1267</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Last Songbird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A story I wrote based on the idea of @eisenruvia on Tumblr—“Jaskier is a ‘Songbird’ hiding as a Human Bard”—with a few alterations to make up for my lack of knowledge on Witcher lore. I wrote this in one sitting and I wish I had time to make it longer, into a full-fledged story with planned-out chapters and such, but this will have to do in these chaotic times. Stay safe, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Songbird, Songbird, see him fly,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>drop the children from the sky.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When the young ones misbehave,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>escorts children to their grave.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Never back-talk, never lie,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>or he'll drop you from the sky!”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>~</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Jaskier had learned that red was the colour of power. Red was influential men and women, whose words actually mean something of value; it was the colour of wealth and well-being. It made Jaskier feel like he was something <em>more.</em></p><p>One of his favourite outfits—the one he was wearing right now, in fact—matched that colour for this exact reason. This particular doublet had cost him near a fortune but it’d been well-worth it. The colour was bright unlike any other, and it was fitted for him specifically; no exact replica could be found anywhere on the Continent. It was one he could wear with pride.</p><p>“And now it’s ruined!” he exclaimed, gesturing at himself—more specifically, gesturing at the large gash that now decorated his valuable doublet.    </p><p>It was sunny, but a biting northern wind was blowing. Perhaps it would rain in the afternoon. It was a morning like any other. Other than the wound on his side that stained his clothes, and the torn red fabric at his feet, there was nothing out of the ordinary. <em>A morning like any other.</em></p><p>He pulled off his doublet and plopped down on a patch of grass, the sudden movement pulling at the skin around his wound. It was no use. The doublet was well and truly ruined. Even a skilled tailor would struggle to fix a gash this ragged and uneven, let alone a bard who didn’t know how to sew.</p><p>“Today sucks!” he said dramatically, letting himself fall back on the grass with a deep sigh. He looked up at the treetops gently swaying in the wind. For a split second, he felt normal, and then he remembered.</p><p>He could hear Geralt hum in response, some inaudible sentence that was probably just an insult anyway. He tried to sit back up to check on his lute, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.</p><p>“Stop moving around so much,” Geralt said. “You’re going to make it worse.”</p><p>He didn’t feel pain as Geralt briefly washed his wound and bandaged it, but he flinched at every touch regardless, used to the whole routine. It got easier with each passing day. <em>Pretending.</em></p><p>Geralt’s wounds, although much more serious, were already starting to heal. Jaskier risked a peek right before the witcher hid them beneath his armour again. They seemed more painful than usual. Bigger creatures usually had that effect, so he shouldn’t be surprised.</p><p>The creatures have been getting stronger, tougher. They showed up bigger than usual, or with more mutations. Each time, Geralt came back more exhausted and with graver injuries. He thought Jaskier didn’t notice, but of course he did. He knew better than anyone what was happening. It was why he’d strayed closer and closer to the battles as of late. He was observing, learning, witnessing the repeat of history.</p><p>The world was changing around them but both of them pretended not to notice; pretended that the monsters weren’t stronger, and the nights weren’t longer.</p><p>He’d been taught to call it the “Disease of the Stars”. When he was younger, he’d joke around with his brothers and laugh about the stars falling ill to a cold, and sneezing comets onto the Continent. Now that he was older by about a thousand years he realized that it wasn’t quite that easy, and definitely not something to joke about.</p><p>Monsters fed off the darkness. They grew stronger under the night sky. Take away the light, and the darkness could take over completely, dousing the world in a cold, never-ending night.  He’d seen it happen once before, back when he was still too young to dream of doing anything about it. The Elders had taken care of it back then, marching out to war against the monsters and only a minority of them returning with the sun once again rising on the horizon, basking the lands in the light it so desperately needed to survive.</p><p>Despite having happened thousands of years ago, and despite Jaskier being only about a hundred years old, he still remembered that day so clearly. It had been one of the last days they lived in peace; one of the only times he remembered where they weren’t hunted.</p><p>Only the Songbirds could keep the curse at bay and stop the world from plunging into perpetual darkness. He knew this as truth, but refused to believe it regardless.</p><p>He wondered how long they could keep pretending.</p><p>His heart grew heavy. He pressed his eyes shut, focusing on the sound of Geralt packing his stuff and talking to Roach.</p><p>It wasn’t his problem. Not anymore.</p><p>He was just a human bard.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>At noon, the wind changed direction, blowing in not from the north but from the east. It had picked up in strength and it blew straight through Jaskier’s undershirt. He mourned the loss of his doublet and moved to walk beside Roach so she could block some of the wind for him. Just a habit. It wasn’t like he really felt the cold.</p><p>His fingers were idly strumming his lute, some unwritten song that had yet to take shape—something about wind, sun, and the loss of something dear.</p><p>For once, Geralt had not asked him to stop even once. The witcher seemed preoccupied with his thoughts, staring blankly ahead as he let Roach lead the way. His expression, half-hidden beneath the hood of his cloak, was unreadable, yet Jaskier had a good guess what was on his mind.</p><p>He kept strumming his lute, kept singing with his human voice.</p><p><em>It wasn’t his problem.</em> Someone else, some powerful sorcerer or sorceress, would figure out how to stop this. The world didn’t need him anymore, it had made that clear long ago. Someone else would step up and fill his shoes.</p><p>He hummed a familiar tune—<em>Songbird, Songbird, see him fly.</em></p><p>A nursery rhyme. That’s all he was these days, really—a being that was feared only by little children who didn’t listen to their parents. It had been a long time since he’d been anything but a legend, and he was quite content with that. He didn’t want to be anything but Jaskier, the human bard.</p><p>Geralt hadn’t noticed Jaskier’s sudden change of tune. He was still staring ahead in that blank way, even when the town had appeared in the distance.</p><p>Jaskier sighed and picked up the pace, Roach diligently following his lead.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Once the sun had set, the rain started to pour down. They’d found refuge in an inn, where Geralt could pick up his reward for today’s hunt—a measly 50 coins because ‘<em>it was only one monster’</em>. Jaskier would’ve argued against the greedy man, but Geralt didn’t seem in the mood for a fight today so he bit his tongue. It was just enough for a room anyway, and Jaskier pitched in so Geralt could have a bath and wash off the blood from the hunt.</p><p>While Geralt was bathing, Jaskier sat in the corner of the room, staring at his notebook and willing inspiration to come to him. He wasn’t performing downstairs like he usually would, under the guise of his wound hurting too much to dance around all evening. His brain buzzed.</p><p>It was already pitch black outside, much earlier than usual. The nights were growing longer already. The last stars disappeared behind the clouds when the wind finally changed. Jaskier’s head went up, and he inhaled deeply.</p><p>His notebook remained blank in front of him.</p><p>“How’s your wound?” Geralt asked from across the room. Jaskier glanced over and gave him his most convincing smile.</p><p>“Well enough.” He’d ask about Geralt’s wounds, but the answer never changed—<em>don’t worry about it. </em>The witcher could pretend all he wanted, but the reality didn’t change. Hunts were getting more dangerous, the risk was getting higher. Jaskier tried to focus on something else, anything else. Distracting himself.</p><p>Hours passed before he found the strength to close his untouched notebook. Geralt was sitting on the bed, dressed in a spare outfit that wasn’t stained with blood, and the unreadable, blank expression had returned.</p><p>“What a day, huh?”Jaskier spoke as he stood, stretching his would-be tired limbs. He feigned a yawn. “What’s on the schedule tomorrow?”</p><p>Geralt shrugged. “Don’t know. We leave.”</p><p>“Ah, back on the road it is.” Jaskier moved through the room, putting his notebook in his bag with the rest of his belongings. He ignored the ruined red doublet that he’d stuffed in the very bottom. He’d only got a blue one left, now. Blue was a weak colour. “Where are we headed?”</p><p>Geralt stayed quiet, of course. Jaskier hadn’t expected anything else. He’d learned that talking to Geralt was more about patience than anything else. Patience and a bit of persistence.</p><p>“Didn’t that pretty barmaid mention a hunt up north?” Jaskier continued. He gently put his bag down in the corner, next to his lute. “Something about a three-headed monster? Or was it three eyes..? Regardless, could be worth checking out.”</p><p>He lowered himself on the bed, behind where Geralt was seated. The tension in the witcher’s shoulders betrayed the carefully laid-out mask that hid the worry from his expression. Usually, he’d keep talking to distract Geralt from whatever bothered him, but he knew it wasn’t so easy this time around. So instead, he shut his mouth and let Geralt think in peace.</p><p>Jaskier pretended to be asleep when Geralt finally stood, but the witcher didn’t lie down beside him like he’d expected. Instead, there was the sound of footsteps, closely followed by the opening and closing of the door. Jaskier opened his eyes to find himself alone.</p><p>A sigh left his lips as he closed his eyes once more. He wish he could help.</p><p>But he was just a human bard.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Jaskier dressed in the weak blue colours and headed outside to the stables. Geralt was already there, softly petting Roach and feeding her a leftover apple. Jaskier briefly considered eavesdropping on the conversation, knowing Geralt talked to Roach more often than he talked to him, but he instantly hated himself at the thought.</p><p>“Good morning!” he announced with all the excitement he could muster up. Geralt stopped talking and gave him a nod, stepping away from Roach and checking his bags.</p><p>The musty barn smell stung the inside of Jaskier’s nose. He uselessly waved at the air in front of him, biting back a complaint. Geralt looked tired. More so than usual.</p><p>He wanted to ask about last night—<em>Where did you go?</em>—but he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. Besides, he’d pretended to be asleep, and he didn’t want Geralt to know that. He didn’t need sleep, like he didn’t necessarily need food. But the least he could do was pretend that he did. It made him feel a little more normal.</p><p>Geralt wordlessly took his bag and tied it to Roach, leaving him to carry just his lute.</p><p>Outside it was hotter than usual, the wind warm against his face. It was hot enough that he should be sweating and slightly out of breath in the humid air; he made sure to make some complaints as they walked. Something about how the weak blue doublet was too thick and <em>if only he still had his beloved red one.</em></p><p> They left the town the opposite direction as when they arrived yesterday—seemed Geralt had been listening after all and was at the very least considering that hunt up north.</p><p>He didn’t play his lute this time. It didn’t feel right. He held the strap of its case, just to ground himself, but found it did little to calm his nerves. He didn’t look at Geralt. He kept his gaze on his feet as they walked in silence.</p><p>It was eerily quiet, actually, like the world had been paused—no birds chirping, no trees swaying, no wind hitting Jaskier’s cheeks. Only the sound of.. flames?</p><p>He turned around. Geralt had already stopped and was looking back at the portal that had formed on the road where they’d walked moments ago. A woman stepped out, with long black hair and purple eyes and—<em>Oh</em>, Jaskier thought, <em>It’s her</em>.</p><p>“Yennefer?” Geralt’s face showed more emotion than it had in the last week and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel annoyed at that.</p><p>“Geralt. Bard.” Yennefer gave the both of them a nod, gesturing at her portal. “We need to talk.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The cottage was nice, sure, but Jaskier still felt hesitant to let his guard down in the home of a sorceress. Being here reminded him of a million things at once: him at fifteen, standing hunched in a corner of the room while the Elders argued with the mages. Him at fifty, teaching his brother how to use his singing more effectively. Him at a hundred, begging the sorcerer to disguise him as a human because <em>he didn’t want to die like the others.</em></p><p>He suppressed a chill.</p><p>“I’m assuming you’ve noticed?” Yennefer had taken a seat at the table, near the kitchen, and had given both Geralt and Jaskier a cup of.. something. Tea, probably. Jaskier hadn’t bothered to check. At least the warm mug felt comforting between his hands.</p><p>“Noticed what?” Geralt asked. He took the only available seat in front of Yennefer. Jaskier inched his way towards the kitchen counter and leaned back against it, focused on keeping his thoughts on the present.</p><p>“The monsters getting stronger,” Yennefer elaborated. “The nights growing longer.”</p><p>Jaskier held his breath. He was holding a staring contest with his mug. He raised it to his lips and took a tiny sip, just enough to taste it but not enough to enjoy. The hot vapor stung at his eyes.</p><p>Geralt nodded. “I have. Do you know something I don’t?”</p><p>“Always the sceptic, I see,” she said, her light tone not matching the heavy feeling in Jaskier’s chest. She tapped her nails against the surface of the table, a rhythm too familiar to Jaskier.</p><p>
  <em>Songbird, Songbird, see him fly.</em>
</p><p>He looked up at her, tried to catch her gaze, but she was looking straight at Geralt. She didn’t know. For once, her eyes didn’t hold an ounce of malice or ill-intent. A coincidence, then? Or had she been doing some research?</p><p>“Have you ever heard of the The sickness of the Stars?” she continued eventually.</p><p><em>Disease, </em>Jaskier corrected her mentally. <em>Disease of the Stars. </em>He bit the inside of his cheek.</p><p>“Can’t say I have,” Geralt responded. He sounded stoic as ever, but Jaskier knew he was listening intently from the way he leaned forward in his chair. His tea was left forgotten on the table.</p><p>“It’s a tale of a plague that infected the Continent thousands of years ago. It drowned the land in darkness and gave monsters a surge of strength. Legends say the sun didn’t rise at all for weeks on end.”</p><p>Jaskier remembered that darkness so well. It was an unnatural darkness, like the sun was there but just refused to work; the air was always cold and silent, and animals and plants slowly withered away to ash. Many humans threatened to meet the same fate.</p><p>Geralt realized what she was talking about. There weren’t many that hadn’t heard the tale in one way or another, be it through stories or nursery rhymes.</p><p>“You think it’s happening again,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Yennefer nodded anyway.</p><p>Jaskier looked out the window, to the sun that was already starting to set. Too early. It should be high in the sky. The birds were still quiet in that eery way and Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder, did they feel the change too? Were they scared too?</p><p>“What do we do about it?” Geralt asked.</p><p>Somewhere, Jaskier had seen it was coming, but he was still unprepared for the words to leave Yennefer’s lips.</p><p>“We need a Songbird to perform a Starscourge.”</p><p>It was like a dream. No, a nightmare. The words made his stomach turn. He clutched the mug a little tighter, forcing himself to take a deep breath, but it felt like there was a weight pressing against his chest, squishing his lungs until they burst. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but it stayed—he opted to ignore it instead.</p><p>“A Songbird?” Geralt repeated, incredulous. “You do realize that they’re just stories, right?”</p><p>Yennefer stayed quiet, expression serious as ever, and Geralt actually <em>laughed</em>.</p><p>“Yen, you can’t be serious about this.”</p><p>“I am,” she said. Her hands gripped her cup tightly, knuckles turning white from the pressure, but she didn’t look away from the witcher in front of her. “They’re real, Geralt. And we need their help.”</p><p>Geralt stared at her in utter disbelief. It seemed like all words had frozen on his lips, nothing able to come out. Jaskier leaned back against the counter, all his energy focused on keeping his breathing steady. His head was ringing, hands threatening to start trembling, but he forced them to remain still.</p><p>“Even if these Songbirds are real..” Geralt continued eventually, still sceptical. “One hasn’t been spotted in hundreds of years. The legends say they—”</p><p>“Were purged,” Yennefer finished. “I know.”</p><p>Jaskier couldn’t quite suppress a shiver. He didn’t like to think back to those times—to the day his family was ripped away from him, murdered for their powers. He felt his anger flare. He’d never understand the cruelty humans showed them. All because they’d been <em>scared</em> the Songbirds would turn against them. Even if all they’d done was <em>protect</em> them from the monsters, stopped them from feeding off the darkness, the humans were ungrateful and murdered them in cold blood just to make sure they’d never be overruled by anything stronger than them, because Melitele forbit—</p><p>“Jaskier?”</p><p>He snapped his head up to look at Geralt and Yennefer, who had both turned to face him. Geralt’s eyes were focused on something on the floor and when Jaskier followed his gaze, he spotted the shards spread on the wooden floorboards; he became aware of the blood dripping down his hand, and the tea on his doublet.</p><p>“Ah.” He reached down to pick up the shards with his unwounded hand. His throat tightened but he forced out a laugh regardless. “I’m sorry, I’ll clean this up. I’m always so clumsy, it slipped right from my hands. Don’t mind me!”</p><p>From their concerned expressions, he could tell his attempt at nonchalance fell flat. He took a deep breath to steady himself. When he pushed himself off the ground and threw the broken mug in the trash, he’d calmed his racing heart and plastered a convincing grin on his face.</p><p>“I’ll be right back! Don’t have too much fun without me!” he called over his shoulder as he headed towards the hallway. He could feel Geralt’s eyes burning into the back of his head but he pretended not to notice, turning the corner as quickly as he could and making a beeline for his bag.</p><p>One more ruined outfit. What did it even matter anymore?</p><p>He didn’t have any bandages left, having used the last roll after yesterday’s hunt. Instead, he ripped a piece off his already ruined red doublet and wrapped it tight around his palm.</p><p>Even once he’d calmed down, he couldn’t bring himself to head back into the room. He hadn’t heard someone talk about him in hundreds of years and he’d forgotten how much it hurt to <em>remember. </em>It was like he was finally seeing himself again, the true version of himself that he’d tried so hard to stuff away. He’d do anything to just forget.</p><p>“Jaskier?”</p><p>Geralt appeared in the doorway. Jaskier smiled nervously.</p><p>“Oh, thank Melitele it’s you, I thought Yennefer was coming to murder me for breaking her mug,” he spoke quickly, pushing himself off the floor. “Tell me, on a scale of <em>‘I’ll punch you in the face’</em> to <em>‘you’re gonna wish you weren’t born’</em>, how angry is she?”</p><p>There was a slight pull at Geralt’s lips, almost unnoticeable if you didn’t know where to look. “I’d guess somewhere around <em>‘I’ll break your lute as payment for my mug’.</em>”</p><p>Jaskier gasped dramatically, although he knew Geralt was only jesting. As he picked up his case and huddled it close to his chest, ranting about insane mages and their unfair wrath, Geralt placed a hand on his shoulder and gently steered him back to the living room for another cup of tea.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier never thought he’d be in this position, chasing rumours about himself, yet here he was scouring the Continent for even the faintest of clues to a Songbird’s whereabouts. <em>His</em> whereabouts.</p><p>Yennefer had done her research quite well. They’d started the search all the way near the Fiery Mountains, where the Songbirds had lived all those years ago before that name had even taken hold. It had been called ‘formaji’ when Jaskier still lived there, meaning ‘passage’ in his mother tongue. He wisely decided not to tell his companions this bit of information.</p><p>Being back there was harder than Jaskier was willing to admit. It brought back memories of before the purge—before a time where he’d learn to hate what he was. He had to keep reminding himself that he was just a human bard now, looking for a legend that totally had nothing to do with him. Not anymore.</p><p>He was just a human bard.</p><p>Having a powerful sorceress around was extremely convenient. The three of them travelled from town to town in mere seconds thanks to her portals, although Geralt never failed to express how much he despised them. Jaskier busied himself with writing new songs about Yennefer’s magic and power, much to her annoyance. But it was better than thinking about why they were here in the first place, travelling through town after town and coming up empty every time.</p><p>They followed the legends closely. Where the Songbirds lived, where they fought the war, where they <em>died</em>. New villages had been built on these grounds, villages that Jaskier had never dared to visit, and they honoured the legends like it was a part of their personal history.</p><p>It felt weird, being honoured. Wrong.</p><p>The nights grew longer still. They only had about 6 hours of daylight each day, so they travelled during the nights as well, trying to make up for lost time. The monsters weren’t as big of a threat with both Geralt and Yennefer’s powers combined, but Jaskier could see each fight chip away at their resolve bit by bit. Each extra hour of darkness wore them down a little more.</p><p>“Why are we looking for a Songbird specifically?” he asked one particularly tough night, once they were all in Yennefer’s trusty cottage recovering from a fight. Jaskier fought back the guilt as he watched Yennefer treat her injured leg where teeth had ripped at her skin. “Surely a powerful mage can do the trick?”</p><p>Geralt heaved a sigh. The exhaustion had made him even less conversational than usual. “You think we didn’t try that first?”</p><p>“We’ve tried for years to create a spell strong enough,” Yennefer added. “None of them have worked.”</p><p>“But surely it’ll be more reliable than chasing after a creature that doesn’t exist,” Jaskier insisted. “And even if they did exist, they must all be gone by now.” He didn’t manage to say the words he wanted to say, <em>they must all be dead.</em> <em>Purged</em> <em>by the humans.</em></p><p>He’d been the only one to survive out of dumb, sheer luck. He could feel it, this ever-lasting ache in his chest where he used to feel the <em>humming</em> of his family, the reassurance that he was not alone. But the humming was long gone. There was no one else.</p><p>“I’m not sure I can do this anymore,” he said eventually, when he didn’t get an answer.</p><p>Geralt was staring at him with that annoying, blank expression. “Do what?”</p><p>Jaskier stayed quiet for a long moment. A minute passed. It was dark outside, like it was most of the time these days, and a storm was brewing. Jaskier could feel it in the air; sense it from the wind coming in through the open kitchen window.</p><p>“Pretending,” he said quietly, like it’d physically hurt to say it any louder.</p><p>Yennefer’s expression was harsh, like a mother scolding a child. “We’re not pretending. We’re going to find someone to help us—”</p><p>“No, no. You’re not understanding,” he said, louder now. His hands were clenched at his sides. “I’m..”</p><p><em>I’m not who you think I am. </em>He couldn’t speak the words, only think them. <em>Not human</em>.</p><p>“So, what, you want to give up?” Geralt asked.</p><p>Jaskier walked over and closed the kitchen window right when the first drops of rain began to fall. He forced his voice to stay steady. “We’re never going to find a Songbird.”</p><p>He avoided Geralt’s piercing gaze as he sat back down. Yennefer was watching him in silence, contemplating something. It made his lungs feel tight.</p><p>“And why is that?” Geralt asked, voice laced with annoyance. “I swear, if you’re going to go off about them not existing again I will—”</p><p>“Because there’s only one left,” he forced out. <em>Could he say it</em>, he wondered?</p><p>“Where did you hear that?” Yennefer interrupted. “Was it written in the legends? Did it say where the last one is?”</p><p>“I know, because—” <em>Because it’s me</em>. “—I heard it in a song. But you’re not going to find him.”</p><p>Geralt huffed and looked away. “If you so desperately want to give up, why don’t you just leave us to do all the work for you? Just go back to pretending nothing is wrong, then.”</p><p>Jaskier flinched at the words. He felt anger flare in his chest. “It’s not that simple.”</p><p>Geralt had already opened his mouth to retaliate, but Yennefer stopped him with a raised hand.</p><p>“Jaskier,” she started gently. “What aren’t you telling us?”</p><p>“Did you ever consider the thought that this Songbird is hiding for a reason?” he spoke quickly. “He’s been in hiding for hundreds of years. I quite frankly just think he doesn’t want to be found.”</p><p>“This isn’t about them,” Geralt snapped. “The Continent is dying and they’re doing nothing about it. It’s selfish.”</p><p>Yennefer stayed quiet. Silently agreeing, perhaps, or just not bothering to defend Jaskier. The bard’s hands started to shake so he hid them beneath the table.</p><p>“Well, how would you feel if your whole species was purged?” Jaskier bit back. “I empathize with this Songbird and think we should stop scouring the Continent for him. He’ll step up if he wants to.”</p><p>Geralt was seething, speaking through clenched teeth, “It won’t step up. It’ll let everyone die to keep itself protected, but it doesn’t have a choice in the matter. If we don’t drag it out of its hiding place, no one will. It will always choose to be selfish.”</p><p>“He isn’t selfish! He’s just scared!”</p><p>“How would you know what—"</p><p>“BECAUSE IT’S ME!” Jaskier yelled out. His chair clattered on the floor as he jumped up, slamming his hands on the table in front of him. “I’M THE LAST <em>FUCKING</em> SONGBIRD!”</p><p>The following silence was deafening. Jaskier could only hear his own ragged breathing and the crackling of the fire in the corner of the room. Yennefer and Geralt seemed frozen in time, staring at him wide-eyed like he’d grown a second head.</p><p>Realization washed over Yennefer’s expression like a tidal wave. Her mouth opened and Jaskier could only just make out an ‘of course’, barely audible over the crackling fire. Geralt had still not moved an inch. Jaskier couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.</p><p>“I’m the last Songbird,” he repeated, voice quieter now, “and I am not helping you.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier had learned that green was a peaceful colour, a calm one. More so than blue. Definitely more so than red. Green was for nature and animals. It was little children playing on the street, oblivious to the unnatural darkness and growing monsters. It made Jaskier feel like he was young again.</p><p>Green was leaving, slowly but surely, without the sun to keep it alive. The trees grew cold, grass died under his feet. The world was losing its colour and people could only stand by and watch.</p><p>Jaskier wiped his hand on his peacefully green doublet and started strumming his lute, voice loud so he could be heard over the lively inn. He sang with his human voice because it was all that he had to offer in these dark times, for he was just a human bard.</p><p>He sang about the wind, sun, and the strength found in hope.</p><p>When the door to the inn opened, he didn’t have to check to know who it was. He’d sensed the witcher as soon as he’d stepped out of a portal a couple of miles out, so accustomed to his aura that it was his second nature to always search for it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Geralt take a seat at the bar, waiting patiently for the bard’s performance to end.</p><p>The crowd didn’t have many coins to spare, but Jaskier understood. He thanked them for listening and sat down in the corner of the room opposite to Geralt, uselessly tuning his lute, wondering how long he could keep pretending that Geralt wasn’t here with him.</p><p>He didn’t look up from his lute when familiar footsteps neared his table. “How did you find me?”</p><p>“A Songbird might be hard to find, but everyone in the previous town could tell me about the colourful bard with the beautiful performance,” Geralt said. His voice was quiet, like he was careful not to scare Jaskier off. He slowly sat down in front of him. “I’m glad you’re okay.”</p><p>Jaskier finally looked up. Geralt’s expression wasn’t the usual mask. Instead, he looked tired and worn-out, like he hadn’t had an ounce of sleep since Jaskier left. They held each other’s gaze for a long while. Jaskier was looking for the right words to say, but they never came.</p><p>“Jaskier..” Geralt started. “Why did you leave?”</p><p>It wasn’t the question Jaskier had expected. He’d imagined this meeting in his head a million times over, but imaginary-Geralt never asked that question—only <em>‘Why did you lie to me?’</em> or <em>‘How could you betray me?’ or</em> <em>‘What kind of cruel monster are you?’</em></p><p>“I didn’t feel like I had another option,” he admitted. He had buried his own grave with every lie he told, and now was the time to lie in it. If that meant leaving Geralt’s side, then so be it.</p><p>“You’re a Songbird..” Geralt stated the obvious. “Have I ever heard your voice?”</p><p>Jaskier knew what he meant and quickly shook his head. He couldn’t tell whether Geralt looked relieved or disappointed or angry; perhaps it was something else entirely.</p><p>“I didn’t want to be,” he said quickly.</p><p>“Didn’t want to be…”</p><p>“Didn’t want to be a Songbird.” Jaskier stared at the table. “I never asked to be one.”</p><p>“I know,” Geralt said quietly. Jaskier wasn’t sure whether he did, though.</p><p>“Where’s Yennefer?” Jaskier asked just to change the subject. He even made a point of looking through the inn, as if he wouldn’t have sensed her here already if she’d arrived with Geralt.</p><p>“She’s..” Geralt paused for a moment, hesitating. “..preparing.”</p><p>Jaskier tensed. He already knew, but asked anyway, “Preparing what?”</p><p>“The Starscourge.”</p><p>His fingers were drumming on the table, that wretched familiar nursery rhyme that wouldn’t leave his head no matter how much he willed it to. The silence between them annoyed him, but he didn’t know what to say. Talking about things was supposed to resolve issues—bring along a magical solution to every problem—but it felt like the reverse was happening. The more they talked, the more Jaskier’s heart tightened in his chest.</p><p>Geralt was looking at him intently, and Jaskier couldn’t stand to look back. Inside him, something welled up: a scream or a cry. He bit his tongue until it bled.</p><p>“Help me understand, Jaskier.” Geralt leaned forward on his elbows. Habitually, Jaskier leaned back. “You alone can rid the Continent of the darkness. Why do you refuse to help?”</p><p>“Because we helped before,” he snapped, “and look where that got us!”</p><p>His limbs felt like they were on fire, itching with the need to punch or throw something. All the hatred and fear he had buried so deep inside came rising up all at once, like a bursting volcano threatening to burn everything to the ground.</p><p>“We were purged. I watched everyone I knew and loved <em>die</em> at the hands of ungrateful humans and I will never forgive them for the hurt they caused. They fucking brought this upon themselves and I am NOT helping them,” he blurted out. The words tasted vile in his throat.</p><p>“Not every human is—”</p><p>“SHUT UP. I don’t want to hear that bullshit. I lost EVERYTHING to them.”</p><p>He stood up, swung his lute over his shoulder, and stormed out of the inn. He was aware that the entire room had fallen quiet and was watching him like a hawk. It was suffocating him.</p><p>Outside, it was dark. The kind of unnatural darkness that made everything around them feel cold and dead. He could hear Geralt’s feet hit the dirt road right behind him but he didn’t stop, didn’t look back.</p><p>A hand eventually grabbed his arm and he was forced to a halt. He turned, mouth already opened to scream at Geralt, but when he looked into those familiar amber eyes he felt all the fight in him leave his body. He was suddenly so <em>tired</em>.</p><p>“Jaskier—”</p><p>“That isn’t even my name, you know that?” He wasn’t sure why he was telling him. “It’s the one given to me by the mage who disguised me.”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt repeated anyway, no uncertainty in the way he said his name. “Usually, you’re the one telling me to focus on the good, but now I’m telling you. I know you, Jas. I know how kind you are. Don’t let the humans take that away from you too.”</p><p>He shook his head, eyes pressed shut. The buzzing in his head was <em>so loud</em>.</p><p>“We need your help, Jaskier. I need your help.”</p><p>“And I want to help, I do, but I’m—” Jaskier laughed humourlessly. “I guess I am selfish.”</p><p>“No, you’re not,” came Geralt’s instant response. “You’re just scared, and that’s okay. But you’re not alone.”</p><p>He was pulled forward and before he knew what was happening, two arms embraced him tightly. He clung to Geralt like this hug was the only thing keeping him standing, and for the first time in hundreds of years, he allowed himself to cry.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier wasn’t just a human bard.</p><p>As he followed Yennefer into the clearing, all the mages bowed their heads, showing respect. Jaskier wished they didn’t. He glanced back at where he knew Geralt to be, but couldn’t see past the mages gathered around him.</p><p><em>Is this what it felt like,</em> he wondered, <em>when the Elders did this all those years ago? </em>He looked up at the sky once, to the artificial darkness, not really knowing what he was looking for. Reassurance, perhaps. Anything to stop him from panicking.</p><p>He stuck close to Yennefer’s side, even when they’d reached the very centre of the clearing. She guided him to stand in the middle of a circle crudely drawn in the sand beneath them, expanding into a million swirls and sigils that he didn’t know, didn’t understand. It was something he’d never been taught. Something he'd never bothered to learn.</p><p>Somehow, it felt familiar even though Jaskier knew he’d never seen anything like it.</p><p>“I don’t know how to do this. I haven’t sung since..” he trailed off. He didn’t even know if he still could, after all these years. He’d never bothered to try, too desperate to forget. Would his human disguise even allow him to use his true voice?</p><p>“I know,” Yennefer’s voice was quiet, only a whisper. “But please try?”</p><p>She took a few steps back and Jaskier resisted the urge to reach out and hold her in place. His eyes searched the crowd once more—<em>why were there so many people here? Why couldn’t it just be him?—</em>and finally found who he was looking for. Geralt was standing behind the circle of mages. When he locked eyes with Jaskier, he gently moved to the front, a silent support.</p><p>It took every bit of strength just to breathe. In, out. In, out. He quietly started humming with his human voice. He tried to recall what it felt like, to use his own voice, but the memory escaped him. The piercing gaze of all the mages burned into him even when he closed his eyes.</p><p><em>Remember</em>. <em>Remember what you sound like.</em></p><p>The moment he opened his mouth to sing he knew it was different—he felt the air around him shift even before he forced out a first tune. He felt powerful. It radiated off him in waves, reverberated in his bones; he was tempted to open his eyes just to see how the mages would respond to his power.</p><p>But he didn’t. He kept them closed and just sang.</p><p>It was an unearthly sound. He wasn’t sure whether he had the words to describe it properly. All he knew is that it felt <em>right</em>, it felt like <em>home</em>. He saw himself for the first time in thousands of years, without his human disguise—he was finally in control; even as hot, salty tears rolled down his cheeks, he knew he was grinning.</p><p>There was a white light so blinding that it forced all the air out of his lungs. He heard Geralt’s voice yelling his name, and then everything went dark.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>When he opened his eyes, he didn’t know where he was. He was in a bed. The walls of the room were familiar—dark wooden planks decorated by useless little trinkets and paintings—but the air around him was different. Lighter. Warmer. Less artificial.</p><p>He sat up, pressing the soles of his feet against the cold floor. The pain behind his eyes came in waves until it slowly subsided. His legs felt weak underneath him but he forced himself to stand, taking long breaths through his nose. Slowly, he inched his way towards the window, placing one careful foot in front of the other. He reached out a hand—he was so close, <em>almost there.</em></p><p>Blinding sunlight poured in when he yanked the curtains open. His eyes fluttered in their struggle to adjust, but then he bathed in it all at once, letting it consume him. He looked out to the infinite stretch of trees that surrounded Yennefer’s cottage, like he was seeing them for the first time: swirls of weak blue sky over peaceful green leaves, trees swaying in the gentle breeze and birds chirping happily.</p><p><em>Yellow.</em> Yellow was a happy colour, Jaskier decided. It was seeing the sun after so many days of darkness; it was flowers and dancing and <em>singing. </em>It was finding hope when it was hard to come by.</p><p>It was Geralt’s eyes as he looked up at Jaskier through the window. It was the tears that stung Jaskier’s eyes as he smiled and offered a wave, and the feeling of <em>home</em> when Geralt smiled back.</p><p><em>Yes.</em> Yellow was his favourite colour.</p>
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